


First Disobedience

by skydark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skydark/pseuds/skydark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange cohabitation on an island that moves at will bring Sam, Dean and Castiel closer to a mystery that's been held for generations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You go down through the piney woods, you go through the hammocks and the sand scrub, you make your way through the Big Water and down into the prairie and somewhere, out there in the middle, maybe around Bugaboo Island, is another island. An island lots of people see, alive with cypress and hanging moss. It ain't a battery; it looks solid enough to step on, solid enough to float if you did step on it. It's an honest to god island, and you can see it, but you can't seem to get to it. It's been seen back before Chief Billy Bowlegs gave his name to Billy's Island. They say a people lived there. A people not like the people of the swamp. Beautiful people, women with angelic voices. Women who once saved lost Creek Indian hunters, women who warned them not to come back for their husbands and sons were fierce. Women who were sought after and lusted after and who vanished like the mist in the sun. The daughters of the sun, living on a secret island in the Land of the Trembling Earth: the great Okefenokee Swamp. A swamp that never gave up its secrets.

**

“What's the name of this town again?” Dean said, loudly to be heard over the wind. It was summer in Georgia, and just by chance the Impala's air conditioner had decided it wasn't worth the fight to keep the car cool, so the brothers had resorted to rolling the windows down. Sam was struggling with his map more than usual and he, too, lifted his voice to be heard over the wind.

“Waycross,” he half shouted, “we got to keep on 75 south for another forty miles or so, then I-16.”

“16 blows,” Dean returned, “the cops there have some sort bet about how many vintage muscle cars they can pull over,” he complained. “Any way around it?”

“Not really,” Sam yelled, “not if we wanna get there anytime soon.”

Dean snorted, although Sam wouldn't be able to hear it over the wind. It had been a long time since they'd come this far south. They spent most of their southern hunting hours in Louisiana. It wasn't that Georgia didn't have its own smorgasbord of prospective targets; it was just that there was a pretty good hunter’s network in place — that, and the damn heat. The leeching, unwavering, humid blanket that hung over the state during the summer. The only reason they'd even considered it was as always, a favor to a friend or a friend of a friend, or a hunter who vaguely knew a friend, or some such he didn't keep track of; Bobby and Sam were good with that. It was just what you did when you were in the life. 

There wasn't much to look at besides a lot of tall pine trees and Sam. He'd seen plenty of Sam, but now he was suspecting he'd seen plenty of pine trees as well. Time to try and have another conversation.

“Tell me why we’re roasting again,” he called over the wind.

“What?” Sam returned just as loudly.

“Why are we going to a friggin' swamp?” Dean shouted.

“There have been some disappearances recently,” Sam started, but it didn't take. They both kept yelling and interrupting each other and generally not able to hear each other over the wind, so after fifteen minutes of wind-aided misinterpretation the consensus was reached that they should pull over and have something to eat, and talk about it then.

Sam, as usual, brought his own date of laptop, assorted books and newspaper clippings. He picked at a tiny salad that seemed to be nothing but some lettuce and a slice of tomato, and made interesting faces and little head nods to himself. Dean courted his cup of coffee, almost ordered one of every fried thing on the menu because damn could the southerners fry up some crap, and hoped against hope there would be pie. There was, much to his stunned disbelief, pie. And not only that, pecan pie. Why hadn't they come to Georgia sooner? Hell, why didn't they live in Georgia?

“So, disappearances,” Dean said after lunch had been eaten, because that was all he could make out from the aborted attempt at conversation in the car. “Funny how all these jobs start that way.”

Sam gave a little half shrug, eyes locked on his laptop. 

“Okay, get this,” Sam began, in his Sam way of explaining things. “As early as the fifteen-hundreds,s there has been a legend of an island in the middle of the swamp that is home to very beautiful women.”

“Okay, I'm on board,” Dean prodded.

“There are a lot of variations on the legend, —in fact, there's two tellings of it, but the one we're interested in is the more prevalent Creek Indian legend and it goes pretty much along the line of some warriors hunting in the swamp, they see an island that looks like paradise but no matter how much they try to get to it, it's always out of reach. Then they come upon these beautiful women who warn them to go away because their husbands and sons will kill them on sight. The women are described as having long dark hair and dark eyes, and some describe them as having angelic countenances and melodic voices. Now supposedly it goes one of two ways: the warriors leave for reinforcements and come back and can't find the women or island anywhere, _or_ they take the women as wives, yadah, yadah. Now,” Sam turned a newspaper clipping toward Dean, who was on the verge of tuning him out and licking his pie plate, “we've had a recent rash of hunters and fishermen disappearing in the same general area where the women were have said to be seen. That would be Billy's Island.”

“I thought you said the warriors either made it out okay or got some hot chicks as wives,” Dean said. “So what's the bad part of the legend?”

“Well that's just it, there isn't one really. In fact there are a whole lot of other legends in the swamp, it's just that this one is supposed to take place closest to where the women were,” Sam shrugged. “I mean disappearing without a trace in a swamp doesn't seem hard to do ...”

“What with all the alligators and shit, y'think?” Dean said.

“Right, but it's picked up. Three disappearances in three months? Sounds like a pattern,” Sam said. “ _And_ ,” Sam went on to stress, “two of them were locals. Like fishing guides, people who knew their way around.” He gave Dean the look that said Dean should be a) agreeing with him, b) following along, and c) on board with whatever it was that Sam was speculating. So Dean made his face back that said, a) okay, Sam, whatever, Sam. It was his one face to fit all Sam occasions, and it was the only one he stocked.

“There are two main entrances into the swamp. The Park, in Waycross and the Folkston entrance that's run by the Fish and Wildlife service,” Sam said. “Makes more sense to try the tourist route in first.”

“And that's a good idea because ...?” Dean prompted.

“Well for one, it's a freakin' swamp. How many swamps you been through, Dean? I think we should get the lay of the land before we go in half-cocked. I think your typical charge in, charge out tactic is only going to get you drowned here. Also, we can see if they rent boats or something,” Sam said.

“And if they don't? Then what?”

“Then we see if you get drowned,” Sam said, closing his laptop.

**

By the time they found a motel, set up shop, sorted the weapons, argued over who was getting drowned first a little more and mapped out the drink machines, the park had closed for the day. So they argued about that a bit. Then Sam claimed the bed furthest away from the air conditioning unit and marked his territory in the usual way, with a ring of books and his laptop. Dean just sprawled on his and looked balefully at the TV remote, just out of reach on the table between the beds. There was silence for a few moments while Sam adjusted his territory, but that didn't last.

“So this place has the usual assortment of ghost lights,” Sam began. “But seeing how it's a swamp with lots of rotting vegetation to release natural gas, I wouldn't put much stock in those stories.”

“Swamp farts,” Dean snorted.

“Well wetland flatulence is a term for it,” Sam said with a halfgrin.

“No need to fancy it up — call it what it is, swamp farts,” Dean said. “So, how'd we find out about this, anyways?”

“Bobby,” Sam said simply. “At least he got the tip. There wasn't anyone else heading this way. Thing is the area use to be covered. Some guy named Delus Adams. He was a hunter a while back, but he's retired. Only he's not answering his phone. Bobby wanted us to check in on him while we were here.”

“A retiree — I thought they were rare,” Dean snorted. “At least that's how Rufus tells it; you don't get to retire, you just get to be old and dangerously paranoid.”

“Bobby said he told him he'd had enough of 'boogers, haints and witches', so he got out,” Sam said. “I'm working on finding more swamp lore right now, in case the beautiful women don't pan out.”

“And that would be a crying shame,” Dean sighed. “Just once, I'd like a job where it turned out the things we were hunting weren't evil at all, just misunderstood. And then they'd give massages or something to thank us for taking the trouble to drive all the way down into this sweat hole out of concern. Concern, Sam, chicks dig concern.”

“That’s great, I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam snorted. “Okay, so far I got an headless ghost story that involves a train, pretty common; hanging tree, check, oh here’s one, the ‘Pig Man’. Seems a lot like the Florida skunk ape,” Sam sighed. “It’s been reported a lot, Georgia swamp ape, Sasquatch, even called a yeti.” Sam shook his head. “I guess we really can’t make any determination until we get out there and see it for ourselves.”

“Seeing is believing,” Dean intoned from his sprawl on the bed. “Other than that, staying in the air conditioning seems a good thing to do.” 

Sam couldn’t help but agree, and they spent the rest of the night with the air conditioner humming in the background.

**

Dean stood on the wooden boardwalk near the tourist center at the entrance to the Okefenokee Swamp. Sam was securing tickets and possibly info on renting a boat, or info on a local with a boat, or picking up where they could possibly borrow a boat — and by borrow, he meant steal, but the owner would get it back. Eventually, maybe not intact, yeah, there was some guilt over things like that; but it was what it was, they couldn’t change it. They were doing the world a service; there were just some things they should get a pass on.

Sam came out, spotted him and headed over. Sam had already shucked one layer of clothing and Dean was considering it himself; but somehow he always felt naked without his jacket. Still, it beat heat stroke, and so he took it off and hung it over his arm as Sam walked up shuffling through brochures he had in his hand.

“Other than guided tours, which there are a lot of, the only way in for overnight is getting a permit through fish and wildlife. We got badges for that,” Sam said. “But that doesn’t get us a boat. We can rent a boat, there are a lot of trails … I got a map,” Sam waved one pamphlet, “both paddle and motorboat. So what do you think?”

“Motorboat, all the way,” Dean said. “In and out, get this over with and get back to the air.” And with that Dean took off one of his shirts.

Sam turned to look around, did a ‘what are we gonna do’ arm raise and drop, then folded up the pamphlets and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans before shedding another shirt, leaving him in just his t-shirt.

“Okay, fine. Let’s find a good spot where a boat might be tonight when we sneak back in,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “then let’s go find somewhere with air conditioning to hang out in all day. I think I saw a Home Depot or something back in town.”

Driving around real fast on the back roads with the radio blasting was fun for a while. Plus, the locals all seemed to do it, so no one looked at them twice; hell, they even sped past a couple of cops, and they had out of state plates. Nothing. What passed for the local mall was crawling with teenagers and the elderly, so they quickly gave that up and ended up in a Lowe's, which was ok, but somehow not as good as Home Depot; but at least it had air. Dean made Sam go across the street to grab food, and they ate in the power tool isle because even though he had no clue how to use most of them, power tools ruled. Food, air and power tools: almost as good as food, air and porn as far as Dean was concerned.

**

Finally, finally, it was dark enough for larceny, and they made their way back into the swamp, back to where boats were tied, and selected a sporty little model with a motor on the back and not much else. Getting the boat untied and motor cranked was easy; getting it pointed in the direction of the swamp was easy; actually motoring into the swamp at night … not so easy. Dean had Sam manning the boat motor and Sam was being cautious: too cautious for Dean, who started hissing at Sam to speed it up. Then, once they were in the black canopy of trees, Sam was a reckless speed demon and Dean had to hiss at him to slow it down. Sam had always accused him of being ten per cent bravado and ninety per cent bullshit, and Sam said this was just proving his point. There was almost a slap fight over manning the motor after that, and during the almost slap fight, the boat did this crazy tilt thing that made them both grip the sides of the boat tightly, thus killing the motor. They sat there rocking gently for an undetermined amount of time. Finally, Dean decided to leave Sam in peace to motor as he saw fit. 

The more time that went by, the more black the night got, and soon all that surrounded them was black, trying to creep every closer save for the light of the gas lantern they’d lifted from Lowe's and brought with them. And flashlights, they had flashlights, they always had flashlights. Right now, they were both clutching them to their chests because for whatever reason that was comforting. 

“Do you see anything?” Dean whispered.

“Are you kidding,” Sam whispered back, “I can’t even see you, and you’re less than a foot away from me.”

“The next obvious line is why are we whispering, but I know I’m whispering because if something is asleep out here, I don’t want to wake it up,” Dean pointed out quietly. “We been in some creepy shit Sam, I think this one wins.”

“I’m not arguing there, in fact …” But then Sam trailed off his whispering, Dean could just barely see him hold up his hand to signal the need for more silence.

Dean of course, didn’t see his hand. “What?” he whispered urgently.

“I think I see something,” Sam whispered back, “ssshhh!”

“Why am I shhhing if you _see_ something?” Dean questioned, with a quiet, ever-growing sort of panic.

Sam’s flashlight clicked on and the beam swung up suddenly and pointed out into the trees. Dean turned that way, clicked his flashlight on, too, and pointed in the same direction but slightly to the right of Sam’s. They both leaned forward and squinted and listened. They both resisted the urge to grab the other’s sleeve; well, what would have been sleeve, but they were both stripped down to t-shirts now and so they would be actually touching each other’s flesh; couldn’t have that.

There was a lot of crackling going on out there. Crackling and splashing sounds and waves of bug music that broke and restarted with each new bump in the night. But as far as seeing what was moving around? That was right out of the question. Sam was already patting around for the boat motor and Dean was already lifting the lantern in an attempt to get some light out over the bow so they could see where they were going. The small boat nudged up against something in the water and Dean jerked back and the little boat moved with him. Sam dropped his flashlight in the bottom of the boat going for the motor pull and then the boat really hit something and Dean did what Dean thought was sensible: he made a half shriek and jerked again and fumbled the lantern which fell and neatly bounded off the side of the boat and over into the water. Oh _great_ , they were in the swamp, in the dark, ramming alligators with the boat and now they had to do it in the dark. They could track its progress for just a moment as it went dark and sank out of sight.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered.

Sam slapped at him, hit his arm and Dean hissed at him and there was more crackling and they both went silent again.

“Now what?” it was Sam's turn to hiss. “We're going to be stuck out here with just flashlights ...” And right on cue, the flashlights began to blink, to buzz, to drain, as if a hungry ghost were nearby. “We're screwed,” Sam said in conclusion to his sentence. The flashlights flickered out and abandoned them to total darkness. Everything around them settled into a hush, and it seemed as if they were suspended in a world of inky black.

“Hey _Cas, Cas,_ we could really use your tendency to glow, so I'm praying to you. _Cas_ ,” Dean said, then he cleared his throat.

“Wuss,” Sam mumbled.

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled back. Then something was standing in the boat — the very small boat — and the boat bobbed a little in protest. 

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” came a new voice.

“Cas? Cas, why are you standing up, you're making the boat rock, sit down!” Dean reached up and grabbed a handful of trench coat in an effort to get the angel to sit, but the angel had other ideas.

“Hello Dean, hello Sam. Why are you pulling on my coat?” 

“Sit down,” Dean said, voice rising a bit, “you're making the boat tip.”

“Dean, stop pulling on him,” Sam said, “you're just making it worse.”

“He's going to tip the boat over,” Dean argued back, giving another pull on Castiel's trench coat. The tug caused Cas to take a step back and really there was no place to step back to so instead he teetered a moment before sitting hard on the side of the boat and the whole boat tipped merrily over and dumped them all, angelic and mortal, into the swamp.

**

There was, of course, a tremendous amount of splashing. Sam was easily in the clear as the swamp wasn't that deep, at least not in that part. His feet touched the bottom and his head and shoulders were well clear of the water. This is what enabled Sam Winchester to witness, by the faint glow of angel light, the miracle of his elder brother, Dean Winchester, walking on water. At least for a moment or two, until Dean had successfully climbed onto Castiel — who Sam really hoped didn't have to breathe —and was on Castiel's shoulders, panting. There was some shouting from Dean, mostly about water and alligators and begging Castiel to fly, and then Castiel, seemingly unheeding of Dean clinging to his head, just started to walk. Sam figured Castiel might have a better idea of where to go then he did; so he followed. It turned out that Castiel did seem to know better than the Winchesters and he walked up onto a small island that must have been nearby and then shook, like a dog shaking off water, and Dean became dislodged and flopped onto the ground. Sam watched Dean hug the ground some and kiss it at least once before climbing to his feet. Then he sniffed, wiped his face on his arm, pretended none of that has just happened and began wringing out his t-shirt.

“So, where the fuck are we?” Dean asked, as if he'd planned this all along.

“We're in the middle of the swamp, in the middle of the night, with no boat, no flashlights, no ...gear,” Sam made a gesture out at the water, “and a soggy angel.” Sam was sure Castiel was giving him one of those squinty looks, but it was too dark and he wasn't close enough to tell. “I guess we get Cas to zap us back to the motel or whatever and try again tomorrow.”

“No, no, no, hold up,” Dean said because Sam knew that Dean knew that Dean had gotten them into this situation, so now Dean had to try to turn it around to make it like this was all still okay; and in the process of doing that he had to somehow try to make Sam think that this was Sam's bad idea from the get go, and his older brother was rescuing him from looking so bad. Sam strongly suspected that Dean did a lot of this because of Castiel, or rather he did it _more_ when Castiel was around. For some reason, Dean seemed to want to impress Castiel, although it seemed to Sam that Castiel didn't impress. I wasn't that Castiel didn't impress _easily_ , it was just that Castiel didn't impress at all, possibly because he didn't know he was supposed to be impressed.

“We don't need flashlights, we got the holy roman candle,” Dean said out of the darkness. “Come on, Cas, light this joint up.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel said, from somewhere a little further away than he was previously.

“Turn up your glow of being a heavenly body or something, so we can see what is going on,” Dean told him, and kept edging over closer to him; which might have been the reason Castiel kept moving away.

“I do not glow,” Castiel said, sounding somewhat indignant.

“I think what Dean means is can you make us some light?” Sam's main role, according to Sam, was interpreting what Dean really meant in order not to piss off people who could potentially help or save them in any given situation. It wasn't the role Sam wanted, just the role that seemed to be thrust upon him. “Before the whole boat tipping incident, our flashlights were drained, so that does mean there is some spiritual activity going on around here, and we should check it out.”

A few seconds ticked by, as if Castiel was considering the request, then Castiel became a slightly less dim glowing angelic lantern of sorts; Sam moved to join him and Dean was already there, watching the ground. Sam thought it was because Dean couldn't meet his eyes, but soon realized Dean was probably looking for alligators. Dean seemed to be overly concerned about them.

“There is something here,” Castiel said, after a few moments, staring intently off into the dark. “But I don't believe what you're after is a ghost; they are doing an excellent job of masking their true nature, that much I can be sure of.”

**

Cas moved, trailing faint light behind him. and Dean turned to follow his movement.

“Yeah,” Dean said, half distracted, but finally looking up and following Cas's stare into the trees. “What do you reckon they are then? If it's not ghosts, then it's swamp monsters? No alligator monsters, though, right?”

“Cas, you can feel them? Track them maybe?” Sam asked quietly, “Like, they're not sneaking up on us right now, correct?”

Cas said nothing. He just kept watching the darkness intently. Sam looked at Dean and Dean looked at Sam. Then they both gave a little shrug and looked at Cas, who didn't return the look. Dean finally took a deep breath and said, “Right, then you can lead us to them? No chance of you going into the water and getting the gear, right? Didn't think so,” Dean said dismissively before Cas even answered. “Sammy, looks like we're winging it. Maybe just some recon to figure out how to get back here tomorrow night with the real bang-bang stuff.”

“I don't think ... you have anything you'll be able to use against them,” Cas said then, quietly. “We should just go.”

“Go? But, Cas ...” Sam started, but then he stopped. They could hear the sound of footsteps in the woods. Many footsteps in the woods, and all around them. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where they were coming from, and Dean and Sam both did a slow circle around the angel, who didn't seem to be inclined to move.

“Ok,” Dean said slowly and lowly, “go as in poof? Let's do it then, come on, Cas,” and Dean backed toward him to get into touching distance.

“It's too late for that,” Cas said quietly. “There are wards here, and spells that I haven't heard in millennia. Listen to me, both of you, they can't see you and there are plenty of places here to hide ...”

“What?” Dean said. “No, we're not going without you ...”

“Cas, what is it? What are they,” Sam asked. “Give us some clue —wait if they can't see us, are you talking about the carvings on our ribs?”

Castiel looked toward Sam, but was silent. Dean couldn't really make Sam out, even with Castiel's faint glow, but he could tell when the angel turned to regard him.

“It's angels?” Dean said, incredulous, but was cut short by the small explosion of sound and light that filled the clearing around them. It was disconcerting to go from not being able to see in the dark to not being able to see for the light. There were many sounds of footsteps now, coming from all around them, and Dean could hear Cas move, but being temporarily blinded, he couldn't see him. He tried to make sense of what he was hearing. 

“Dean? Cas? What's going on?” Dean could hear his brother, but he couldn't see him; he flung his hands in front of him. “Cas! What is it? Can you see anything?”

“Dean, get back,” he heard Castiel say, and he surged toward the sound of his voice, and his hand did touch something, the sleeve of Cas' coat, and he gripped it hard. 

“I got you,” he said, and he wasn't sure why it was so important to him, to know where Cas was, to hold onto Cas tight — but it was. Cas pulled against his grip and Dean heard voices: more than one, more than Cas and the language wasn't English, but he'd heard it before, from Cas himself. He was sure it was Enochian. He heard Cas again, this time in English.

“Dean, let go! Take Sam and run. You don't ...” and his voice cut off just as Cas was yanked out of Dean's grip and Dean protested, loudly, mostly with Castiel's own name. 

“ _Cas_ ,” he pawed through the light, arms outstretched and his hands hit something, a chest, and he clenched his fingers tight into the fabric and the light faded and he stood for long moments, blinking to clear his vision; and when he did, Sam was blinking down at him, Dean's hands fisted tightly in his shirt front.

**

They had to wait for daybreak to make their way out of the swamp. They had spent the remainder of the night alternating between stumbling around in the dark, calling Cas' name and huddling in the low branches of a tree (Dean refused to sit on the ground, because alligators).

By the time they made it back to their motel room, they were sore, smelly and hungry. Exhaustion just came with the territory; they'd learned not to complain about it long ago. There was a brief argument about who was showering first and Sam made the eyes, and when that didn't work, Sam just shoved his shorter elder sibling out of the way. So Dean sat on a chair, because in the condition he was in, he didn't want to mess up his bed. They hadn't talked much _about_ Cas since he was taken, just mostly yelled his name into the darkness (prayed his name silently, too, a fat lot of good it did them) with no results. What the hell? Cas was taken by _angels?_ Other angels just like kidnapped him and what ... took him back to heaven? He'd been butt-reamed in heaven once before and had come back as an iceberg that just sorta looked like Cas. What would happen this time? 

Dean rubbed his face and when he looked up again, Sam was out of the shower. So he took his turn, stood with his forehead pressed to the tiled wall and tried to think of what they could do to get Cas back. The long and short of it? They couldn't, not really. Other than dying and breaking into the pearly gates and catching a ride back down with Cas; but on the whole, he wasn't sure that would work. When he was done, Sam was already in bed, but he didn't appear to be asleep. So Dean toweled off and pulled on something clean to sleep in and came over and sat on his bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly, testing to see if Sam was asleep after all.

“Hey,” Sam returned quietly. “You should get some sleep.”

“How close were you to the action? Did you hear them talking at all? I heard voices, sounded like that angelic gobbledygook Cas spouts,” Dean said.

“I heard it, too,” Sam said slowly, “and I think you’re right, I think it was Enochian. So, what are we saying here? Angels took Cas?”

“Yeah, and see, I don’t know how we’re gonna get him back, I mean if they took him then they took him up to heaven, right? Only one way into heaven that I know of.” Dean shrugged and flopped back on the bed. 

“Maybe they just needed to talk to him or maybe he’ll get away,” Sam said into the darkness. “I mean, what can we do?”

“A fat lot of nothing,” Dean replied. “Cas is a big angel; he can take care of himself.”

“I guess,” Sam said again.

“So our plan is get back out there tonight, find what we came to find before Cas showed up and screwed with everything …” Dean said.

“You called Cas,” Sam reminded him.

“And get this show on the road. After this is done, maybe we could go talk to Bobby, he might have an idea,” Dean said, deciding to pretend he didn’t hear Sam’s little remark. “So, do we have any ideas other than what we had before, which was nothing. Anything at all?”

“Uh, sirens, maybe,” Sam said, clearly to humor his brother. “You know as much as I do? You really want to go back out there and look for Cas even though he's supposed to be in heaven right now. It's okay; I want to go for that reason, too.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled. “Let’s get our four hours and get ready for tonight. We need more flashlights and another lantern or two and we need to make sure we tie them in the boat this time.”

Dean turned onto his side, putting Sam at his back. This was his signal to Sam that he was done for the night, and so should be the discussion. Dean heard Sam give a few of his heavy sighs, but after a bit, he didn't hear anymore, and finally he let himself go to sleep.

**

It was barely dark and Dean was getting irritated with Sam's attempts to hold him back. This time they’d rented a boat earlier in the day, taken it out and stashed it where they could get at it for that night. Then, of course, they had to avoid being seen by the people they’d rented the boat from, but then Sam thought maybe they should be seen by the people they rented the boat from to keep them from alerting the authorities there were missing tourists in the swamp. So in the end they turned the boat in and found another likely one to steal, which is what Dean pointed out they should have done all along.

“I hustled good pool for that money,” Dean snorted as they motored out into the swamp slowly. “It takes a lot of skills to keep you in shitty motels and fast food.”

“Will you just leave off already?” Sam groaned. “It’s my money, too. Watch out, there are roots all along here you know.” Sam had lit one lantern and tied it to a small hook on the front of the boat. This time, Dean made sure they’d invested in stealing a quality boat, a little flashier perhaps, but neither of them had been in a swamp before last night, and they didn’t want a repeat performance of that.

“Maybe I should try calling Cas, what do you think?” Dean asked. 

“I think you might alert whoever grabbed Cas to our presence, if they are still out here,” Sam said. “I would go with that’s a bad idea.”

“Okay, fine, brainiac, what have you got?” Dean would have crossed his arms and leaned back but the swamp surrounding them made him too nervous; so instead he just watched the water intently for signs of alligators trying to get in the boat with them.

“I know you’re worried but you need to stop being so defensive,” Sam started, and then they both went silent for long moments, looking intently off into the distance. “Do you see a glowing island?” Sam finally said. “I think I see a glowing island.”

“Maybe,” Dean replied absently, “let’s get closer.”

So they headed for the island, and they headed for the island, and they headed for the island a lot longer than it seemed like it should take them to get to the island. Finally, Dean took his eyes off the island and looked back at Sam.

“Are you sure you’re driving this thing right?” he questioned. “It can’t be _that_ far away!”

“Yes, I’m driving it right, look, we’re moving, you can tell by the ripple of the water under the lantern, I got an idea, let’s pull over to one of these other islands and try it on foot.” Dean was sure Sam rolled his eyes at him, even if he couldn't see it. Sam steered them up to what appeared to be an adjacent island and they got off the boat cautiously, making sure to take the duffle o’ weapons and flashlights and to tie the boat up so they could get to it later. But trying to get to the island on foot wasn’t any easier than trying to get to it by boat, and it was so frustratingly right there and yet not. After a couple of hours of walking it seemed, Sam stopped and turned to Dean.

“Wait, this is like the legend,” Sam said. “In that legend, the one about the beautiful women, it says that they can see the island but they can’t get to it. This is like that, we see it, but we can’t get to it.”

“Okay, so you had an epiphany. What did the guys in the legend do? I mean, they met the women right? They were heading for the island and they met these women. So, how do we meet the women? Because you know we really need to …” and Dean stopped right there and went still and quiet, holding up one hand for Sam to follow his lead because if there was one thing the Winchesters were good at, it was being able to tell when something was stalking them, about to jump out at them, almost had the drop on them, or that chaos in general was about to ensue.

Dean turned his flashlight to the side and Sam went still, waiting to see where Dean wanted him to go. The other thing the Winchesters were good at was being a well-coordinated attack team. That is, when they could manage to get the jump on whatever was trying to get the jump on them.

As Dean was about to signal Sam to hang back and maybe try to circle around, a beautiful woman stepped into the beam of Dean’s flashlight beam. Dean liked beautiful women, so this was momentarily a good thing, but then he remembered where they were, what they were doing, and that Cas was missing and he put a cap on his liking of beautiful women temporarily. She was tall, she had long dark hair and dark, dark eyes and she regarded Dean with a look that was intently blank. There was only one other being in Dean’s existence who could look at him that way. If this woman could look like him, then this woman knew where he was.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean demanded, and he didn’t hear Sam behind him because Sam was doing what a good Winchester always did: hide out and maybe stab the thing in the back while it was chewing on his brother.

She said nothing at first, merely did that strange little head tilt that Cas often did when Cas was perhaps trying to figure out how humans could function in the limited space of their bodies with only so much room to think.

“Do you speak English?” Dean tried, because who knows, maybe she only spoke Enochian. He reasonably reassured himself that Sam could figure out what she was saying if this proved to be the case, because even though he’d never seen Sam study Enochian, Sam just seemed to know everything, so if that was his criteria, Sam knew Enochian.

“You have to leave here,” the woman suddenly said, startling him enough that he jumped just a little, but not a lot, because he didn’t startle easily, and it was dark, and alligators, possibly.

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me where Cas is,” Dean said, sticking his chest out because he wasn’t just startled or anything. “Take us to him or bring him here, your choice.”

“If they find you here, they will kill you. I’d rather not see you dead,” the woman said calmly, unaffected by any male posturing Dean could manage, and he could manage quite a bit. “You should leave and take your companion with you.”

“I will, as soon as you tell me where he is, I’ll just get him and go,” Dean said, being obstinate over the fact he knew she was talking about Sam, but hoping if he bluffed hard enough then maybe she would forget about Sam. It had never worked in the past, but still he always tried it, hoping anew.

“I can show you the way, if you are hungry I can feed you, but you must be gone,” the woman insisted. “The others here, they will kill you, they don’t want their secret known.”

Sam never played along with Dean’s attempts to bluff him into non-existence.

“If you’re telling us this much, then you can help us,” Sam said in Sam’s reasoning tones as he slowly came closer to where Dean had her pinned with a flashlight beam. “If you’re warning us, then you’re helped others in the past. Please, we just want to find our friend and then we’ll leave.”

“What can take an angel anyways?” Dean decided if Sam wanted to exist he might as well get in on the action, too. “What’s out here?”

She turned slowly to look at Dean, then she looked down and another figure appeared behind her: another woman, equally beautiful.

“Leave now.” The new woman didn’t seem as charitable, there wasn’t even a bribe of food offered and Dean just snorted. 

“Nice one lady, but we’re a member short of our party and we live by the motto no one gets left behind.” Dean Winchester struck his ‘whatcha gonna do about it’ pose, which he thought looked intimidating, and it might have done if it didn’t emphasis his bowleggedness.

“Listen to me, if you know what your companion was then you know you are in grave danger,” the new woman continued. “There are forces here that neither of you understand; they are old and they are only reasonable unto themselves. They will _kill_ you and no one will be able to stop them.”

“We’ve had worse,” Dean started but Sam interrupted because that’s what Sam did when he knew Dean really didn’t have a reasonable come-back and was playing the bravado card.

“Can’t you just tell us why you’ve taken Castiel?” Sam said. “Are you angels as well?” Dean knew Sam could sense when they were outgunned better than he could.

“What we are is of no import,” the new woman said and took a step toward them. “What does matter is that you leave here and go far away and forget you ever came here. We are doing this for your benefit, we don’t have much time, you need to go.”

A third woman came into the little bit of light they were sharing. She gripped the first woman’s arm urgently and looked at the two men there.

“They’re coming,” said the second woman, “it’s too late.”

“Hide,” the first woman implored. “Run now, hide.”

Dean could hear them now, moving through the trees and he jumped forward, gripped the first woman by the arm. “Just take us to Cas,” he said urgently, “once he’s clear we can get out of here; hell, lady if this is worrying you, you could come, too!”

She seemed startled and tried to draw back. All the women turned now, and looked back into the thick darkness of the surrounding swamp. Then all was still for a moment, then they were gone, all of them, and Sam stood there alone and bewildered and missing a brother.

**

“No I’m telling you, he was just gone,” Sam half-yelled into the phone. 

When the women disappeared and took Dean along with them, it didn’t stop the sounds of something coming from the swamp. Sam's first reaction was to call for his brother, and he did, repeatedly, jogged in the direction he'd last seen him and bellowed Dean's name into the darkness wondering if he might be heard or if the night would just swallow it up. And the night was swallowing everything up, the faint glow of the island whispered away and he was left there in total blackness. And then he heard it again, the sounds moving in the swamp, heaving sounds, like footsteps and coming ever closer to where he was — so Sam ran. He ran and he got back to the boat and he got in the boat, and by some miracle he got the boat back through the swamp, close enough to civilization to get out and run some more, until he was able to find his way back to their motel, back to their room and only then did he stop to breathe.

“Okay, okay, go over it again,” said the man on the phone with far more patience than he actually felt. Bobby Singer felt that each time he got one of these half-panicked calls about a missing sibling, it took a couple of years off his life.

“What’s to go over? First Cas, now Dean and we don’t know what we’re dealing with; but I’m pretty certain it’s angels, and why are there angels in the middle of a swamp on an island that you can’t get to? I tell you Bobby, it makes no sense.” Bobby could hear Sam paced the room, imagined him tugging his hair, grinding his cheek against the phone. God knows he'd seen the boy do it enough. “There have been sightings of these women for _centuries_ , I just saw them!”

“Listen to me, I know this seems bad, but the legends say the guys usually get away, right?” Bobby gave a long sigh over the phone. “I’m going to give you Delus’ number; pretty certain I’m gonna regret this, and you’re gonna need a translator, but call him. He’s been hunting in that neck of the woods for decades. He probably has some lore neither of us has seen yet.”

**

Sam took down the number, let Bobby reassure him a couple more times of Dean’s continued existence, then he hung up to call the number. And call the number, repeatedly, over the course of an hour. This drove him to his beloved laptop to get an address to attach to the number, and then it drove him to drive his brother’s car, because desperate times called for desperate measures. It took him three times to actually find the road into the property, not that it was that much of a road. It was merely a suggestion of a way to get a car into the woods, although not if you valued the car's paint job; and while Sam would put Dean’s survival above the Impala’s paint job, Dean might not see it that way (they had this argument many, many times) so he left the Impala and continued in on foot.

He soon came upon some small buildings, or rather shells of small buildings. They were mostly weather torn and abandoned and he kept walking. The further he walked in the more he thought maybe he’d made some sort of horrible GPS error and was in fact, walking into another family of humans who either liked to hunt or eat other humans. On the whole, humans were far scarier than most monsters had ever been. But just as he was giving himself the creeps, he came up on a pick-up truck that wasn’t a rusted out shell, and in fact looked to be in pretty good working order and fairly clean. So he felt a little better, just a little. Then there was also a house, an intact house with a front porch with chairs and even an old barbeque grill. So he should push his luck, right? Supposedly this man was ninety million years old and Sam could run. So he went up on the porch, knocked on the screen door and stood there trying to look not so big and intimidating. After a few minutes, there was a noise, the front door was pulled open and a shotgun was pointed in his face.

“If ya make it to the end of the drive, ya get to live,” the gun said, but then Sam realized it wasn’t the gun, but the man behind the gun, actually holding the gun aloft. He threw his hands up.

“No,” Sam said, “wait! Bobby Singer sent me!” Now Sam could only hope against hope that this wouldn’t get him shot. Usually provoking the name of Singer was at best a fifty-fifty proposition, no, in reality more like a twenty-eighty with the eighty being the higher possibility of the name of Singer getting you killed.

“So what? It’s been dull ‘round here, maybe I want the excitement,” the old man said. “You look like a good sprinter. You think I give a rat's ass who you know, don’t care nuthin’ bout you knowin’ no Bobby Singer.”

“I saw the women in the swamp, the daughters of the sun!” In times of duress Sam’s brain could squeeze out the smallest of details and the name of the Creek Indian legend seemed to be among them. The shotgun never wavered but the old man went silent save for a grunting noise.

“What’s more, they took my brother and a friend,” Sam continued, “please, Bobby says you might have some information, I just want to find them, please.” Then Sam waited quietly and hoped that perhaps the old hunter might have a soft spot for younger hunters. 

“What, 'cuz the fools was off in the swamp where they ought not be? Them women, sometimes they let ya go, sometimes they pick their teeth with your bones. Sounds like yer friends is the pickin’ type. Good riddance, if yer stupid enough to get caught, ought not be huntin' and iffn’ you have any sense you gonna let it go, walk off my land and go live the rest of yer life.” Then the old man pushed the door open with his foot and Sam took several steps back and now they were both on the porch. 

“What do you know about the women? Where are they from? What are they? Can you tell me anything?” Sam kept trying, because at this point all he had was polite annoyance, and he meant to use it.

The old man sputtered and squinted at Sam hard. “What are ya, stupid?” he said. “They’s angels and if you were smart you wouldn’t be messin’ with ‘em cuz they got a pack a devils shackin’ up with them on that island and they don’t like strangers. Been spendin’ years getting’ people to leave ‘em the hell alone. It’s like a bee’s nest, you don’t mess with them, they don’t mess with you.”

Sam Winchester was utterly speechless. This was quite an accomplishment for anything, living or dead: to rob Sam Winchester of his ability to speak. He stood there, and said nothing, because really, just what could he say?

“Dumbass,” the old man spat. “Now get off my porch.”

Finally Sam was able to trick his larynx into producing noise. “But … the recent disappearances, my brother and our … friend …” Sam got out.

“You mean the Samples boys and that moron Thomas? Shit boy, everyone ‘round here knows what that’s ‘bout. If they all out there dead they did it to each other.” The old man stared at Sam a bit more and finally, finally lowered his gun. “Ain’t no love lost there.”

“Wait, wait,” Sam said, slowly lowering his hands. “You’re telling me those men went out there and murdered each other, but we go out there and get jumped by _angels_?” 

Delus Adams shrugged. “Looks like, them angels are fickle, ain’t never got no straight answer out of any of ‘em.”

“You _talk_ to them?” Sam said. “You mean, all these years you’ve been talking to angels and you never told anyone? Why now? Why _me_? I’m sorry but I’m just not following along here.” Sam sat, heavily, in one of the porch chairs and it creaked beneath him.

Delus tilted his head and looked long and hard at Sam Winchester. “Well, since I don’t do this no more, guess somebody oughta know. You got an interest now, right? Cuz of your brother and yer friend, so you gonna go out there and be pokin’ round, maybe you die? I don’t know. But if you don’t die, then you know they’re out there and you can do something ‘bout it. I got lots of books ‘n shit on ‘em. The main one, the boss is called Bae. She’s a looker for sure, I think their vessels wus Creek women, anyways,” Delus sighed and sat in the chair across from Sam, propped his shotgun up between his legs, “good luck getting yer brother and all back.”

“Do you know why they might take another angel?” Sam said, trying to breathe, trying to take this all in, trying to figure out just what his next move was in this impossible situation. Hell, this impossible conversation with a man who has spent decades keeping _angels_ from being found. 

“I dunno, was this angel of yours a fella? Maybe they wanna breed,” Delus shrugged, dug in his shirt pocket and produced a crumpled pack of filterless cigarettes. “There’s girl angels and boy devils, I don’t figure they have socials too much. Best I can think is it’s a mutual survival thing. Over the years you know, you pick up some stuff. One thing’s fer damn sure, they don’t wanna be found by no one, especially the upstairs or the downstairs.”

Sam scrubbed at his face, and then sat there, hands clasped between his knees, head down. And then what the old man had said hit him.

“Wait, what? _Breed_? Like a stud or something? Can they do that? I mean do angels even ... and ...” Sam trailed off because Delus seemed to be very casual with this. Delus seemed to take the revelation that angels and demons where out there, among them, walking around. He just seemed to ... breed? With Cas? Really? Cas? The same Cas he knew? What? Sam tried to formulate further sentences, but just ended up making some half-formed words and sputtering.

Meanwhile Delus had himself a smoke but didn’t offer Sam one; he might have said yes if it was offered, but it wasn’t. He was hard pressed to come up with just one scenario, just one situation that was similar somehow to this; and he wasn’t sure where to start or if he could start or if anything he did at this point would even matter. _Angels and demons_ , hiding from the world; _together_. Nothing made sense; nothing would probably ever make sense again. But there was one thing for sure: sitting here was accomplishing nothing. 

“Is it possible you could get me to the island?” Sam asked quietly, “Or at least tell me how to get to the island? We didn’t have much luck the last time we tried.”

“You ain’t gonna set foot there lessen they let ya,” Delus said with a slow shake of his head. “I guess maybe you gotta get ‘em to let ‘em go somehow, don’t know how, though. If yer friend is an angel he oughta be able to get ‘em to let ‘em go, lessen he’s gonna join up with ‘em. I know they’ve offed a few humans over the years, people that got too close or wouldn't go away. You try to keep people away, you warn them, they don't listen,” Delus snorted.

“Have you been on the island?” Sam said quietly. 

Delus didn’t look at him then, instead he fiddled with his pack of cigarettes and then stood up, picking up his shotgun. 

“Please, I just… I need to know. I haven’t got a clue here. You know that hunter lore doesn’t exactly brim with stories of angels, well, all but yours. Please. I just want to get my brother back and then we can leave and not tell another soul. You can help me, I know you can. Please.”

“You need to go, I cain’t help you anymore than what I just told ya,” Delus said, turned toward the door. “Boy, I don’t think you’ll be getting’ back if you want my honest truth. But … good luck anyways.”

“Mr. Adams, please …” Sam tried again, but the old man went through the door and shut it in his face.

**

Dean Winchester believed everyone had a secret fantasy where they could travel through those air tubes like banks had: those tubes that sucked a little plastic container from the thing by your car into the bank itself so the teller could do what she had to do and then shoot the little tube back to you. Yeah, those would be cool, only they’d have to be bigger, to be human-sized. Well, Dean Winchester was fairly certain he’d just been through one of those plastic sucky air tubes and it sure as hell wasn’t human-sized. He hit the ground, went to his knees, got hauled back up and half-dragged over the ground. Next he was flung into some sort of domey-hut thing and the door was slammed shut.

Well, wasn’t that hospitable?

So he sat there on his ass a few moments, trying to take this all in, and he looked around a little from where he was sitting and then he got to his feet, dusted off his ass and turned around and jumped about a foot because there was someone in here with him, sitting about a foot away.

**

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said.

“ _Cas_!” Dean scrambled over, looked the angel up and down. “You okay? What happened? Why'd they nab you? Where the hell are we?”

Castiel watched Dean's face intensely as he spoke, making a tiny nod at each rapid-fire question. He waited a few moments after Dean stopped speaking, just to make sure Dean has said all he wanted to say before Castiel began to answer him.

“I am fine,” the angel said, “I have not been harmed. I was abducted by angels. I was taken for fear I would betray their location to Heaven. I believe we are on an island that is surrounded by a pocket dimension, but I haven't been able to test my theory as I'm in this dome, under guard.”

Dean watched him anxiously as he spoke, then still looked anticipatory after Castiel had finished answering all his questions. Dean was often like this, wanting more than he asked for; Dean seemed to think that Castiel could read his mind, but Castiel didn't read his mind because for one it was rude; two, it was difficult; and three, he'd rather experience Dean first hand than try to react to Dean with knowledge of what Dean was going to say beforehand. Somehow he was sure it wouldn't be as satisfying; to either of them.

“And?” Dean prompted.

“And it's good to see you,” Castiel said, because he wasn't sure what more Dean wanted and, well, it was good to see him.

“Let me get this straight,” Dean said, “there are some angels here that Heaven doesn't know about?”

“It would seem so,” Castiel said, then he moved over a bit on the small bench he was occupying to show Dean there was room for him to sit there, too. But Dean looked to be in a pacing mood, and that's what he started to do, so Castiel continued. “Also, I believe there are some others here, who perhaps the angels rather I not know about, but I sensed before they put me in here.”

“And why are you still in here?” Dean said. “Wards?”

Castiel nodded gravely. “There has been discussion about what is to be done with me. I believe the latest opinion is that I should die in order to keep the secret safe.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, this also effectively stopped his pacing. “No one is going to die, especially not you and not here. I mean you might not be able to break out, but angel wards don't mean dick to me.”

“There has been argument against my demise,” Castiel offered. “Such as eternal imprisonment, but if they wish to remain effectively undetectable then my death would be a more assured way to bring this about.”

“Cas, you realize you sound like you're siding with the douchebags who want to kill you, right?” Dean said, finally coming over and sitting down beside Castiel. “I don't get you sometimes, how can you be so calm about it?”

Castiel wasn't sure this was an actual question. Sometimes Dean would ask things not expecting an answer and Castiel was rather bad at picking these non-questions out, so he figured a shotgun approach was best and answered every question Dean asked, whether it needed an answer or not. This one was no exception.

“I don't understand why I would be otherwise. At the moment, locked in here, there is little I can do about my fate. Until events actually unfold I am powerless to effect the outcome. So I wait and observe and perhaps I will see an opening, and then I will take it. If I make a commotion then my every move is watched, if I sit quietly I am left alone to plot.” It all seemed pretty simple to Castiel. To Dean it seemed a revelation, and he started to say something about it, but then he didn't and he sat there quietly beside Castiel. It didn't last long.

“So do you know any of these angels?” Dean asked in a hushed tone and glanced at the door.

Castiel also looked at the door, and after a few moments he spoke. “Of course, I know then all, they are my brothers and sisters. The one who came for me in the swamp is Meriarijim. The one who brought you is Bae. I did not get a chance to see the others, or get close enough to feel their grace, so I'm not sure. Dean, I detected demons among them.” “Demons,” Dean repeated back to him, “black-eyed asswipes who do the tango of the damned, that sort of demon? You sure?”

“I am, which of course makes this a far greater mystery than I originally contemplated,” Cas said with a sigh. “Bae has been AWOL for a very long time. Finding Bae here along with Meriarijim is of course a shock. It's been long speculated that perhaps they'd gone into a black hole or suffered some other sort of dimensional mishap. But it seems, instead, they had descended to earth and they took precautions against being found. This does, unfortunately, make them traitors, and I would have to report them.”

“Angels get sucked into black holes?” Dean said, sounding incredulous.

“If they get close enough,” Castiel confirmed, wondering why such a absolute thing seemed like a far-flung idea to Dean.

“Yeah okay, besides that, you know they know how you think, how you're wired. Like you just said, you have to report them, but you know maybe you don't have to report them, maybe they could just put the angelic whammy on you and make you forget them.” 

Dean sort of bounced in his seat and looked pleased with himself and his fine idea. Castiel would have liked to indulge this idea, because Dean did look so pleased and smug, but Castiel knew this idea was faulty because 'angelic whammy' only worked on non-angelic beings, such as Dean himself, and it would not work on Castiel. It seemed a shame to have to bring it up, but it was better than letting Dean wallow in this false sense of cleverness.

“It's a good idea,” Castiel said to soften the blow, “but unlikely to work.”

Dean's smugness immediately turned to a scowl and he snorted and glared at the door.

“The idea did have merit,” Castiel tried to cajole him, but to no avail. So instead they sat in silence for a little while. There seemed to be little else to do or to discuss.

“Wait a minute, you don't have to eat,” Dean said after that while was over. “They don't have to eat, they do know that I have to eat, don't they?”

“I suppose if their intention is to kill us, then it wouldn't matter,” Castiel said quietly. Then he patted the pockets of his trench coat where sometimes he kept things for Dean, like candy bars or grenades, but he came up empty. “It seems that you have eaten all the Kit Kats you had me hide from Sam,” Castiel said sympathetically.

“And if I gotta take a piss? What, I'm supposed to piss in here in front of you?” Dean snarled.

“I would hope not in front of me,” Castiel offered, “but over in a corner would be fine.”

“You know the minute they open that door, whatever it is, we're gonna go down swinging,” Dean said then, more subdued, eyes glued to the door.

Castiel let out a long sigh then, and Dean turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I wish you hadn't come,” Castiel began slowly. “It has never been my intention to put you in harm's way. As I see it, you've given enough. I suppose, in a way, it's my own selfish nature that has brought you to this. If I'd been able to stay away, then perhaps they wouldn't have sensed you and it wouldn't have come to this. I will do what I can to protect you, please know I will try; although, inevitably I will likely be overcome by sheer numbers and despite my wishes otherwise, they will smite you.”

Dean was still just looking at him, eyebrow raised, arms crossed. Castiel returned to sitting beside him quietly, wondering if perhaps he should have worded his careful apology differently. After all, if Dean was to die with him, it was his fault.

“You know, no one forced me to come looking for you,” Dean began. “Sam and I were in the clear and we could have hustled our asses on out of this alligator infested dump, but we didn't. We came back to try and find you and we did that, you had nothing to do with it. So you know, all this whatever it is you're trying to say to me here, stop it. It's not your fault, Cas, how could it be? You think I was just gonna go and leave you here? Okay, granted, I really actually thought you were in Heaven and I came back out to finish a job, but it's not all about that, yeah, I came back out to look for you, too. Sam did, too. So when you see him, thank him. So stop it. If I'm gonna die, I don't wanna die having a moment. What is it with you and Sam you gotta put all those feelings out there when things get tight? It's distracting.”

“I'm sorry...” Castiel began.

“Don't apologize for apologizing. Why are we having this discussion?” Dean snapped, and he tried to fold his arms tighter and slouched on the bench there next to Castiel.

At this point Castiel didn't know what to say, so saying nothing seemed to be the optimal thing to do; so he said nothing and sat there beside Dean Winchester and waited for the verdict of whether he was to live or die. He weighed each possibility carefully. Were he to live as a prisoner, then he would be confined here and his existence would be as if it were on hold and he would be useless to everyone. And would Dean be confined as well? Unlikely. It occurred to him that it really didn't matter what they chose for him: it was a death sentence for Dean either way. He stood then, approached the door and called out.

“Bae, I would like to talk to you,” he said. “I would like to find a resolution to this situation and I would like to know the terms of having the human released unharmed.”

Dean was on his feet then, charging across the space between them, grabbing Castiel's arm. “What are you doing?” Dean hissed. “We only negotiate for _both_ of us, you got that? What's this releasing the human crap?” It was as if Dean was insulted, and Castiel was mildly startled by it, not sure how to respond; but then again, he was often that way with Dean. But it didn't keep him from continuing to preserve Dean's life. 

“We could take his memory,” Castiel said to the door and Dean hissed louder and tried to drag Castiel away, but Castiel could be an immovable object when he chose to be.

“No fucking way,” Dean said angrily, quietly. “Shut the hell up already!”

“Dean, I told you that your plan had merit, you will not prevent me from using your plan to save your life,” Castiel told him loftily and refused to let Dean move him from the door. They had a starting match, but both were good at it so it was getting then nowhere and after a few more futile tugs Dean let go of Castiel's arm and grunted in frustration.

“I am not going without you, jackoff, so I don't care what you tell them,” Dean said. “It's not a deal if I don't say so.”

“If they wipe your memory, you'll have no remembrance of whether you had say so or not,” Castiel pointed out logically.

“If they make me forget anything, I'll remember enough to kick your feathered ass,” Dean assured him and Castiel gave him one of those massively puzzled expressions and was about to make another comment when the sound of the door opening stopped them both.


	2. Well the swamps is alive with a thousand eyes, and all of them watching you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange cohabitation on an island that moves at will bring Sam, Dean and Castiel closer to a mystery that's been held for generations.

Sam packed everything he could think to pack, then he packed some more just to be sure. He knew that his laptop would be pointless in the swamp; there probably wasn’t a swamp on earth with wifi, so he grudgingly left it lying on his bed. He would drive the Impala down to the docks and then rent a boat this time. Going in the daylight was the sensible thing to do, so he could head in the last direction he went when he saw the island and the light would make it easier to cover more distance. He left the room and headed over to the Impala, digging in his pocket for the car keys.

“Hey boy,” someone said, and he stopped and turned to see Delus Adams standing there, hands shoved into his pockets. “I figure you might need a guide.” Then the old man just stood there, looking at Sam. Sam felt whatever breath he had been holding just flood out. He smiled, nodded, and indicated the car. 

“Yeah, I would. That would be great. I was going to go down to the docks and rent a boat,” Sam said.

“No need fer that, I gots my own.” Delus nodded over to his truck. “You come with me.”

Sam didn’t argue. He followed Delus to his truck, tossed his duffle into the back then climbed into the passenger seat. He didn’t want to jinx his sudden good fortune, but he was always too curious for his own good. To his credit, he waited until they were at least a mile from the motel.

“What made you change your mind?” Sam asked.

“What’s it matter? ‘M old now, used up, ain’t had but one job my whole life. Might as well see it through.” Delus turned to look at Sam. “Maybe I take out one more that’s one more you ain’t gotta do and you get out early enough y’know, you get out early enough to be a real boy. Or maybe I’m just fulla shit, who knows?” And then Delus laughed, a wheezy old man laugh, and Sam grinned.

“Now, les' go ‘round us up some angels and getcher brother back.” And to the docks they went.

**

Dean immediately tried to push Castiel back, to get in front of him. But Castiel was not having any Winchester defiance today, so he merely gripped Dean by his upper arms and sat him out of the way. Dean sputtered in protest, but now the door was open and there was a woman there.

“Have you come to hear my terms?” Castiel asked her directly, chin up, eyes level. Cas had learned to use arrogance as a weapon. Arrogance in the face of adversity could make an opponent angry, and anger led to mistakes. It often worked on a certain human. Castiel turned his head as the said human huffed behind him, and Castiel gave the human a look to make him behave; as if this had ever worked in the past.

“You are not really in a position to be offering terms, Castiel,” Bae said. Castiel knew this to be true, but to concede to point at this time would weaken his position. He may have little hope, but he did have some hope, and perhaps that was all he would need to keep Dean alive. She stepped into the dome; the door closed behind her. Bae made no threatening moves toward him, toward either of them really. She merely stood with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Okay, maybe he's not,” Dean said behind him, and Castiel half turned this time and looked at Dean hard before turning back to look at Bae. “But if you wanted him dead,” Dean continued, even though Castiel had tried to shush him with hard looks, “it seems to me he'd be dead already. I mean, why the elaborate holding pen? If you haven't killed him, it means you need him for something ...” Castiel made a noise now, a half-irritated noise, a halfhushing noise, and Dean looked at him and gave a shrug. “What?” Dean questioned. “You know what I'm saying makes sense.” Castiel sighed, why he ever tried to do any negotiating with Dean present was beyond him. By now he thought he would have learned his lesson.

“You are very bold,” Bae said, and Castiel worked his jaw a bit. He'd rather she not pay any attention to Dean. He'd rather she focussed on him and regard Dean as the others did: as an insignificance. The attitude certainly rankled with Castiel because Dean was one of his father's creations, and therefore beautiful; but in these circumstances, disdain for Dean's existence could work in their favor. Castiel knew Dean was always one to capitalize on others' underestimation of him.

That is, if he could get Dean to shut up and co-operate. Instead he stepped in front of Dean again, cutting off Bae's view and making her turn her eyes back to him. “As I said,” Castiel leaned forward a bit for emphasis, “I'm prepared to offer terms.”

“Very well,” Bae said, “I am prepared to take them.”

“The human is of no use to you,” Castiel began, internally cringing just a bit, and listening to Dean grunt behind him and ignoring him. “Therefore I propose you wipe his memory and deposit him back into the swamp. If you abide by these terms then I will submit to whatever it is you wish of me.”

“You offer fair terms,” Bae said. Castiel watched her move away then, take a few steps along the wall of the dome. “But we both know that in order to effectively erases a memory, there must be some co-operation from the intended subject,” Castiel watched her pause, then study Dean, having put herself in line of sight of him once again.

“In order to save his life,” Castiel insisted, once more stepping to block her view, “I am sure he's willing to make such concessions.”

Her eyes turned to Castiel again, and he felt a small uncomfortable shift. A ripple in his attempt to take control of the situation, just enough to secure a deal for Dean.

“We both know that's not true,” Castiel heard her say. She continued quietly, “it is as easy to read off of him as it would be to look it up in a book. He will not forget you willingly and, therefore, he will not forget this place … willingly.”

“Damn straight,” Dean mumbled behind him. Castiel's heart both leapt and sunk, and it was such an odd sensation.

“We are not savages, Castiel,” she told him as she once again began to walk the perimeter of the dome. Castiel could either move with her, keeping up this futile attempt to shield Dean, or simply concede the inevitable; his bluff has been called.

“Then what will you do with us?” Castiel asked simply. 

“I come with my own terms,” Bae told him, stopping now beside the small bench Castiel and Dean had occupied earlier. Castiel did turn to her then, to let her see she had his complete attention. Castiel waited politely, as he was wont to do, and Bae smiled a bit.

“I remember when you were young, brother,” she said to him, and he tilted his head at her. Castiel, of course, knew little of Bae; he had still been quite young when she departed heaven. It was in the Testament of Solomon where she was written of, and there, Castiel remembered, she was called upon in the exorcism of demons. He glanced back at Dean, who was giving Castiel the hairy eye and biting his tongue, and Castiel was grateful for this, that Dean would make an effort to do as Castiel requested. Perhaps Dean realized the gravity of the situation as well. Sometimes Castiel felt as if situation gravity was just a loose guideline for Dean.

“I am sorry sister, but I don't remember you well; as you said, I was young,” Castiel replied. Dean made impatient noises behind him.

“I don't expect you do,” Bae said, sitting on the bench and Castiel merely gave the ghost of a nod.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean suddenly exploded behind him. “Can you cut the family reunion crap and just tell us what you're gonna do with us?” Castiel gave a little sigh, but he did know at least Dean had tried. “You angels may have forever to chit-chat but I ain't got all day.” Castiel had to give Dean that point. He remembered some very long and thoughtful conversations he'd had over the years of his existence: some of them had lasted months.

“He means no disrespect,” Castiel told his sister, “but he has a point.”

“Certainly,” Bae said and nodded to Castiel. “As I told you, brother, we're not savages. If only you hadn't come, the island wouldn't have appeared, but even that is not entirely correct.” Cas watched her turn her head to Dean and look at him with interest and perhaps a bit of respect. It made Cas uneasy and unsure of what was to come. Anna had regarded Dean in this way, too, and look how that had turned out.

“So? What are you talking about? The island only shows up for angels?” Dean asked before Castiel himself could ask it. 

“Mostly, yes,” Bae said. Castiel was both appreciative and wary.“But there are certain individuals in God's creation that can pull the island, even if they don't mean too,” Bae continued. “It's a bloodline.”

“You refer to Dean as a vessel,” Castiel acknowledged. “That matter has been settled,” Castiel supplied in a tone he hoped Bae would interpret as final.

“Our knowledge of events outside the island isn't as limited as you might suppose,” Bae said. “I note what you say brother, and I will heed it. Very well.” She stood again and Castiel stepped now to move in front of Dean.

“Cas, I ain't a freakin' kid you gotta protect, okay?” Dean said behind him, exasperated.

“He's right, Castiel,” Bae said, in front of him, reasonably. “If you agree to our terms, neither of you will be hurt. Our only term is that you can never leave this island, either of you. You may reside here amongst us for the rest of your natural days,” and Castiel knew she meant that for Dean.

“ _What?_ ” Dean exploded. Castiel turned so he could see Dean fully. “Bullshit! I ain't staying here! Tell her, Cas! What about Sam? Huh? And Bobby! No way, lady, no deal.”

“He speaks passionately,” Castiel said as Dean panted. “You're asking him to give up his family, something that humans, and this one in particular, don't take lightly. I will speak with him.”

“There's no speaking with me!” Dean flailed on, “I said no deal! I ain't staying here for the rest of my life!”

Castiel looked at Bae and she regarded him steadily, never wavering despite Dean's histrionics. 

“Your terms are meant to be generous,” Castiel told her, “and they are merciful to a degree; but only to a degree. You will trap me on my word, this I know.” Castiel sighed. “I will need some time.”

Bae nodded to him, inclined her head. “I understand, brother. Please rest here until you have your resolution. I will have someone bring food for your companion.”

Castiel thanked her again, escorting her over to the door now; half feeling he needed to protect her from Dean as much as he sought to protect Dean from her. But to Dean's credit, he stayed rooted to the spot he was in, fists and jaws clenched, and just watched until she was gone. Then, as Castiel knew he would, he turned on Castiel.

“What the _fuck_ , what the actual fuck, Cas?” he demanded and Castiel. stood quietly, knowing he was going to have to weather Dean's wrath, as there was no escaping it here.

“What do you suggest, Dean? Is it not obvious that they consider our continued existence outside the parameters of the island a continual threat? It’s clear they are hiding here, and have been for some time. I’m not sure I would ask any differently were I in their situation. We stay here and keep the secret with them, or we die. I would assume you would prefer life to death.”

“You just folded like a napkin!” Dean threw his hands in the air. “Here is what I assume: that you’re going along with this until we find a way to get the hell out of here. What was that crap about ‘you will trap me with my word’. I need to tell you something, Cas: sometimes it’s ok to lie to get out of crap like this.”

Of course it would be Dean who would give him pardon no matter what he did. Dean was so eager to give pardon to everyone around him, possibly because Dean found himself so unworthy that it was the only thing he thought he could do. He let go a little sigh. It might be a lesson he could stand to learn; but it didn’t make it easy to live with. 

“I’ll consider it,” he told Dean and then turned away, lifted his nose. He should not even be offering that. Why was it Dean Winchester could make him bend so easily?

“ You don’t consider it, you _use_ it to get an opening so we can get the hell out of here,” Dean growled. Then Dean stalked over to the little bench and flopped down on it again. He didn’t leave any room for Castiel, so Castiel took that as an indication Dean was upset with him and therefore uninvited to sit with him. It should not bother him, but it did. So he approached Dean and stood there waiting for Dean to shift over, but Dean didn’t.

“I’ve upset you,” Castiel said unnecessarily. “I am only trying to save you.”

Still Dean didn’t move. So Castiel just stood there. And then Castiel stood a little closer and Dean turned his head away. Castiel wasn't sure how to deal with these reactions. 

“Sam would be upset with me were I to let you die,” Castiel tried. When things were for Sam's benefit, Dean was a lot more flexible.

“Cas,” Dean said without looking at him. “I hate saying this but you're teaching me a lesson. You're letting me see how it feels when I make decisions for Sam.”

Castiel wondered if this meant Dean was not upset with him because Castiel was providing some education. But somehow he doubted that was the case: Dean was forever one-sided. Castiel decided to try and sit on the bench anyway to see if Dean would move over. So he backed up to it and sat down. hip to hip, and Dean grunted and turned his head to look at him and finally, at length, moved over a bit so their hips were no longer touching. It was a brief and bittersweet victory for Castiel.

“You don't get to decide this shit for me; maybe I think dying is better than being memory-wiped,” Dean said. “That's _my_ decision. Free will, remember? We've talked about this.”

“We have,” Castiel said patiently, clasping his hands before him, looking off into the distance. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you that I will feel much guilt over this decision once it's done?”

“No, you suck now,” Dean informed him.

Ah, the colorful colloquiums: the argument had progressed this far already. 

“Dean, you're an important part of the make-up of the universe. Your time here is brief and so the most should be made of it; I, however, am eternal. After many, many years, when threats against you no longer have sway over me because you will be dead and gone, I can gain my freedom,” Castiel said, hoping he sounded very reasonable, because this was a very reasonable argument. 

“You are so full of shit. I am completely done with you,” Dean told him, then Castiel watched as Dean turned on the bench so he could face away. 

**

They had trolled silently through the dark for a quite a way. Sam was initially very nervous of this mode of transportation: a tiny metal slip with a equally tiny, almost silent motor, but Delus knew his way and could have done this with his eyes closed. Which they essentially were doing, Sam thought, it being this dark and almost moonless. They came into a cove and Delus took them up and tied the boat to some roots. They waded in ankle-deep water onto the shore and then into the trees that were thick on the tiny island. Delus led them to a tiny shack and he jiggled the door open and they went inside, where there was barely enough room forSam not to have to duck. Delus lit a lantern then. The walls of the shack slowly revealed themselves. Sam never saw the inside of the barn where Dean and Bobby first met Castiel, but if he had, he would have thought this very déjà vu. Sam heard Delus grunt and turned to see him lifting a large chest, bringing it over and setting it on the one rickety table the shack possessed.

“We gotta keep them from seein’ us coming,” Delus told him, fiddling with the catch and opening the chest.

“I got that covered,” Sam told him, “I mean at least for me. I have Enochian symbols carved into my ribs, pretty effective.”

“Damn boy, you loaded for bear?” Delus grinned at him. “That is righteous shit, where’d you get a quack to do that?”

“It was Castiel, the angel they took with my brother,” Sam told him. “He did it to … protect us from other angels, ironically,” Sam shrugged. “Can I tell you something?” Sam started, knowing he was going to say it anywaysno matter what Delus said. “Having to fight angels is just … it feels so _wrong_. I always wanted to believe there was something out there in the supernatural sector that was on our side.”

“Eh, ain’t about sides,” Delus told him. “They don’t care about sides, they just care about order. We don’t fit the order, we kinda wallow around in chaos half the time and it just nettles ‘em. They don’t understand it, so you know if you don’t understand somethin’ you tend to be hostile. They ain’t all like that, I mean that angel you know, he seems okay if he’s hangin’ out with you boys. And the angels on the island, they ain’t what I’d call bad. They jus' wanna be left alone, I respect that.”

“You’re pretty amazing,” Sam told him then. “All of this you know and you see and you don’t look at it as us against them. That’s pretty amazing.” Sam got nosey then, to see what Delus had in his box. It was very odd to look into a hunter’s stash and not recognize much. There were basic and simple things in the box, for the run of the mill monsters and spirits, but there were also things Sam had never seen before. Delus took out a pouch and pulled out an amulet.

“If you weren’t already invisible we might put this on your big ass,” Delus grinned. “It’s a charm from Capabile, one of the three angels of the sun. The island inhabitants have a blind spot for it, sorta makes you blend in.” Delus put it over his neck. Next he pulled out a length of rope.

“This,” he said shoving it in Sam’s face, “is a relic of Cukbiel, for binding magic. This is a rope you can tie an angel up with and they stay put.” Sam watched him drop it into his duffle. He then showed Sam a stick. 

“This is a stick that Bethuel once used to poke a fire, Bethuel being good at warding off evil you see, so ever since then you just kinda point this stick, they get all shaky.” Delus grinned at Sam and Sam couldn’t help but grin back.

“You really know your angel lore,” Sam said, impressed, “so, uh, do you know anything about Castiel?”

“Oh, hmm, not a lot, he likes Thursdays,” Delus told him. Well, it was something. He watched Delus stick a few more odd and ends into his duffle bag, then get a shotgun. “Salt pisses off the demons,” he told Sam, “makes the angels all confused and look hurt cause yer shooting at ‘em.”

Lastly Sam watched Delus pull out some long sticks that looked like roman candle fireworks. They were weird and before he could ask, Delus supplied.

“This is for if they get up in the air at ya,” Delus said. “I modified these things, flashbangs with holy oil inside so when they pop you got the flaming sizzle, scatters ‘em like a fly swatter with flies,” and Sam saw the old man’s eyes light up. Well. Then wait a minute.

“You see them flying around?” Sam asked. “Because Castiel just always sort of appears wherever we are; I mean, I hear something, maybe it sounds like wings?”

“Oh they use to fly all over the place back when I was young,” Delus said. “The swamp people didn’t pay ‘em no attention. But thems the people what’s died off here, so now they hide more. Move that island all over the place all the time. Good thing I know how to summon it,” and the old man grinned again. Then he scurried over to a corner, pulled a couple of boxes, a nasty old rug and he opened a trap door cut into the floor. It wasn’t so you could go down very far. Sam came over and watched the old man lean over and reach down into the hole, grunt as he felt around and then he came up with a jar. The jar was heavy, like the old clay jugs that held everything from molasses to moonshine. It was stoppered tight, it even had a wax seal — and yet all around it, Sam could see a glow. Sam reached out to touch it, and the old man hissed and pulled it back.

“Careful!” he told Sam when Sam obeyed and pulled his hand back. “This is like an angel H-bomb,” and he grinned some more and carried the jug over to the table. “Portable angel mojo,” and Delus wiggled his eyebrows and Sam cocked his head.

“What are you talking about?” Sam said. “What’s in the jug?”

“It’s Grace,” Delus said, and Sam’s eyes almost split his skull.

**

Dean got up and he went to the door and he reared his foot back and he kicked the door just as hard as he could. Behind him he heard Cas hiss, but he ignored him.

“ _Hey, we're tired of being in here already, let us out,_ ”” Dean shouted through the door. He knew Cas was right behind him. He didn’t hear Cas move, he didn’t need to, he could always just feel Cas near. “Back off, Cas,” he warned. “I’m tired of cooling my heels.” When Cas didn’t say anything Dean turned to look at him. Cas was giving Dean that sort of calculating look he sometimes gave Dean when he didn’t agree with what Dean was doing; but he wasn’t going to stop Dean from doing it either. Good, that was what Dean wanted. When his abuse of the door got him no response, he decided to get creative. He went over to the bench he and Cas had been sharing and he hefted it up. It was wooden and wasn’t very heavy, but it seemed sturdy, and that would do. The next time he hit the door, it was with the bench, over and over hoping to make a dent. He looked back at Cas, who was still watching him quietly and nodded his head at the door. Cas made no move and no indication he understood Dean’s nod. Great. The angel wanted to be obstinate. It was his way of pouting.

“Get over here, Superman, and help me,” he grated out.

“I fail to see what this will accomplish,” Cas told him. “But very well.” Cas walked over, lifted his foot and kicked the door. He leaned into it, using his heel and the door literally flew from its hinges and landed some distance away. Dean just looked at Cas for a few seconds and dropped the bench. Then he and Cas had a glare off for a moment and Dean snorted loudly and stepped through the door, looking around. There were no alarms, no guards, no one running at them with a war cry and weapon raised, no one with a gun, no black eyes, nothing. It was almost unnerving enough for Dean to step back into their prison. Instead he stood and waited on Cas, hissing and beckoning him to get a move on by waving his hand back and forth. Cas came out, did the same look around as Dean did. He looked up, however, and then sighed. “They’re watching us, you know,” he said to Dean.

“What, from where?” Dean looked up, too and there, in the trees above them were figures. “That is fucking freaky,” Dean decided out loud. “Dude … do they have … wings?”

“Hmm,” Cas told him, “it seems to be an effect of the island. They are so closely hidden from the Host that they can pull a certain amount of their grace into this pocket with them and the Host can’t detect it. I see it manifests as wings.”

Dean laughed. Okay, wait for real? Actual angels _with_ wings? He was used to the wingless variety now. If this just wasn’t the shit, okay, fine they had wings, so what? 

“Okay, groovy, let’s get the hell out of here,” and Dean decided he was leaving, so he picked a direction and went for it. He heard Cas make a grunt behind him and then of course Cas was following him. 

“If I can see their wings, how come I can't see yours,\?” Dean asked over his shoulder. So far this seemed pretty simple. No one was shouting at them. No one was running to stop them. Maybe it had been a bluff the entire time.

“If I stayed here long enough, or evoked them, you might,” Cas told him. also looking around. “They seem to have a distinct lack of security measures,” he mused. But Dean should have known they had spoken too soon. He was heading for the trees on the other side of the clearing where the cluster of domes were located when three figures dropped into their path. They had not really made a sound, and of course Dean came to a stop to regard them warily. 

**

“I know, I know, it's the grace of Derdekea,” Delus said before Sam could even ask. “You won't find her in a lot of lore, she gave up being a heavenly thing a long, long time ago. She fell to earth, got borned, got raised, started her only family. She wus my great-great-great grandma. Family legend has it when she was a young woman she started having dreams about heaven and she went off on a journey and she wus gone so long her family thought she was dead then one day she comes back with this jar and she 'splains it to 'em about this bein' her grace and how she fell from heaven for being bored up there or somethin' that parts sketchy and how she got borned here a woman. Then she knew all these wards and stuff, all this angel crap. I got journals of it, all family history.”

Sam thought he needed to sit down for a few minutes.

“Anyways, we crack her open a bit, the island will come to us,” Delus continued and Sam just kept staring at the jug. “The island comes to what's angels is around, it don't know a grace from an angel.”

“So wait, your great-great-great grandmother was a fallen angel who found her grace and never put it back?” Sam asked. “Why?”

“I dunno, she jus didn't. Anyways, thems on the island got here cuz Bae came looking for her.” Delus shrugged. “She an Bae knew each other in heaven. And I guess Bae just gathered up all the outcasts from heaven she could find to make her own little heaven here.” Then Delus got quiet for a few moments and Sam didn't prompt him because he was telling Sam his story and Sam wanted to listen.

“Yeah I, uh, I, uh,” Delus continued, “jus' sorta inherited the family stuff. The lore, the whole guardian thing.” Sam watched him shake his head. “Right, me a guardian to angels, me. So didja know I kinda looked like my great-great-great-grandma back in the day? I did, and Bae, she loved her, my grandma. Like a lot, and so then you know, she'd look at me and see her. So Bae and me, we had a thing … for a while.”

Delus had a thing with an angel for a while. Sam Winchester considered himself officially blown away, and that was hard to do considering how Sam Winchester was raised. But then it kind of stopped him, because that thought he never really let himself think when he would watch his brother and Castiel have stare-offs? Well he wasn't thinking it now, but _oh_ , the irony.

“Anyways, come on, grab that bag, let's get this show on the road.” And Sam grabbed the bag and followed Delus back out to the little boat.

**

Dean held his hands up, took a few steps back. Cas came up behind him, close enough to touch.

“Have you made your decision, brother?” Both Cas and Dean half-turned to see Bae behind them now; like the others, her approach had been silent. Dean tensed up a bit, but he heard Cas behind him give a soft sigh.

“I cannot stay here,” he told her. “I must at least return Dean to the outside world.”

“I am sorry,” Bae said.

“So am I,” Cas replied. “Do you remember what I said about evoking?” Cas asked Dean. He moved up on him even closer, and Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, about the wings?” Dean said.

“Take a deep breath,” Cas informed him. Dean cocked an eyebrow. But then Cas' hands were under his arms, wrapping around his chest. He felt Cas' chest against his back, the move of powerful muscles there, a sound, a very loud flap and then ... they were in the sky.

_They were in the sky_. Dean flailed out but there was nothing to grab. There was only Cas' arms around him. 

“ _Hold your breath,_ ” he heard Cas shout, and they did this crazy bank off to the right and Dean grabbed at Cas' arms around him intending to somehow push them into his body so that Cas couldn't possibly let go and then there was a blur right there and a jar and he was suspended for a moment, then there was freefall. He could hear nothing above the roar of the wind and see nothing for the crazy tilt of the horizon and he knew he was falling, he knew he was over — then a painful jolt, his ankle was gripped and he was rising and then he was rushing upwards. He didn't hear the clash of angel blades below him, couldn't see Cas trying to fight off their pursuit and dive after him at the same time. He didn't know that was the tactic, he didn't realize they had ripped him from Cas' arms and hurled him away, making Cas either save him or himself.

**

All he could do was strike and run. A strike, a lunge, pushing himself faster and faster toward the ground. A wild desperate grab and catching Dean, too close to the trees for comfort; fleeing upwards again and having to spin him away to parry a blade. He couldn't keep doing this: the lack of oxygen; one wrong grab and the snap of a neck, and it would be over then and there. All he had left was to flee. He made a feint, flipped his blade in his hand to throw, and they scattered before him. It was done in seconds, milliseconds and then he was diving after Dean again. The time he got his arms around him fully, pulled up as hard as he could, then had to try and bank them through the trees. He reeled through the higher limbs, realizing the only way he might shake pursuit, burdened as he was with Dean's weight, was to fly as low and dangerously as he could manage. Dean was a drag, and it was hard to compensate; it had been forever since he'd carried another in flight like this. It wasn't the simple warps he made with Dean in tow; this was all too physical. It was the only option he had on the island, since he couldn't seem to warp away. Dean also wasn't trying to clutch him anymore, which made him worry; he could just be unconscious, or he could be worse — there was no time to tell. He could feel the small cuts and stings from the trees he dodged, he knew Dean would be covered in them, too; but if they were going to die, it was going to be from the effort of getting free, as Dean wanted. Castiel could satisfy himself with that. The trees were getting tighter; soon he would not be able to get through as he was and he would be forced to go up, to go into the open. At least that was what he speculated before the air around them began to shimmer.

**

The island was moving. It turned in on itself, encased itself and did all manner of things magical and illogical as it went from corporeal to ethereal in the blink of an eye. It wasn't sentient enough to note these changes; it didn't know that ancient spells had been woven into its very soil; that trees held sigils burned into their very hearts; that the force of every single living thing on its surface played into a power so vast it could not properly be comprehended, not even by those who wove it in the first place. The island closed up, became its own dimension and slipped, covered, between molecules and reemerged as it had been but in a new locale. It was like picking up and moving a fish bowl, and Castiel realized it too late.

His pursuit had miraculously scattered. He didn't question it; his only thought was escape. His shoulders burned from both the effort of holding Dean and the forgotten flap of actual wings. And it was those distractions that robbed him of the vital few seconds he would have needed to realize that a barrier of pure energy had surged up before him; now the best he could do now was turn himself, to try to shield Dean from the impact and, once it came, to curl around Dean as they plummeted. 

The impact _hurt_. He was generally on friendly terms with pain, since it was a reoccurring theme in his life; but there were special occasions for everything. Dean was unconscious and therefore relaxed; when Castiel hit the ground on his back, Dean simply bounced off his chest and rolled to the side and lay on the ground, still unmoving. It was agony to roll up onto his side, get a hand on Dean's back and confirm warmth and breath and life. Dean had all these things, and Castiel let his hand drop and blinked against his tunneling vision. He really couldn't afford to pass out just now; but he did so anyway.

**

Sam gripped the sides of the little boat as it shimmied in the water. They were in the chase prairie, close to Bugaboo Island. Dusk was coming and Delus Adams had cracked open Derdekea's grace. Yes, Sam knew how that sounded, and no, he wouldn't have believed it either, but here they were. So far there had been nothing but the far-off call of birds and the sounds of the water and its inhabitants around them. Sam supposed it might take a few minutes for an island to form itself out of nothing, but it was getting a little excessive. He was starting to wonder at the validity of Delus' claim to have an angel's grace in a jar when the world around them shimmered and shifted. There were sudden ripples in the water and the boat rocked with them and an island just slid, quietly, into existence where previously there had been nothing.

“The fuck ...” Sam said.

“Ain't it a kicker, gets you every time,” Delus agreed. 

It was such an experience that Sam wanted to make sure he was really having it, so he pinched his arm. He rubbed the spot after he'd done it, then took a careful look around. Nothing was disturbed by this event, nothing was alarmed. There wasn't a mass exodus of birds or a frantic water churning escape for any other creatures. It was as if the ecosystem of the swamp just accepted this, as if moving land masses were an every day thing. And perhaps, here, it was.

Delus plugged the jar back up, laid it carefully in the bottom of the boat and covered it with a tarp he'd brought along with them. Then he started the tiny trolling motor, and toward the island they went at a snail's pace. Sam kept looking around anxiously, expecting to be called out any moment. After all, they'd _summoned_ the thing; but for all that, it was quiet. Sam noted that Delus looked up. He examined the trees carefully and then finally they were able to pull the little boat up onto a rocky slip that might have been a shore. Sam watched Delus tie the boat off then they both got their gear.

“Now it don't look like much,” Delus told him as they started to walk, “and I know yer thinkin' it can't be a big island, but that's where ya wrong. It's all ... twisty. Bae tried to explain it to me once, I dunno, I just know that you can walk on it for more than a day 'fore ya see the other side. Don't seem like the prairie can hold an island this size, I know. So it's the damndest thing. Angel magic or sumthin'.”

Sam tried to take notes as they walked: the way they were going, the sounds, the smells, whatever he might be able to catalog and use. Delus kept looking up, so Sam started to look up, too.

“What are you looking for?” he finally asked the old man.

“Oh, they like to hang out up in the trees,” the old man replied casually. “Only don't like make aspersions about that like comparing them to buzzards or nothin'; biggest fight of my life and you don't piss off women whats can beat the crap outta ya.” Delus gave a low whistle.

Sam couldn't help but grin. “Good advice, I'll remember it,” he promised. As they walked now, Sam, too, glanced up.

**

Dean came awake slowly.

He didn't move for a while, just lay there with his eyes closed and his ears ringing. Slowly he started to test his various limbs for response. They all seemed to be all systems go; so he slowly opened his eyes. There were muted brown shapes in front of him, splayed and huge, and when he could focus on them he realized they were covered in feathers.

Feathers.

He lay there for moments longer, wondering about this strange event and then little things started to come back to him. He was airborne, then he was falling, then something hit him. Okay, so, he collided with a big bird and the big bird somehow broke his fall and he was still alive. He didn't know that he was pretty accurate about this. He sat up, then and sat there holding his head until it stopped spinning. Right. Okay. He got on his knees and then, slowly, got to his feet. Right. Okay. Not going to hurl. Good. It might be time to try to remember where he was; that would be good. But he turned first to look at this big fucking bird he took out while falling. It looked like some giant fucking hawk. The wings were much bigger than any hawk he'd ever seen personally. Maybe they just got so fucking huge in the swamp they could swoop in and pick you up and fly you off to snack on in their nest. The swamp was totally insufficient in its warnings about alligators and giant fucking hawks. Was it dead? It better be dead, but on the off-chance it wasn't dead, he looked around and quickly located a big stick. He got it up and peered at the thing, laying there in a crumple of wings. He better club it a couple of times just to be sure.

He tiptoed over to it, craning his head to see over i's wings, find its head, smash it in more than what it may already have been smashed in. Try to make a meal out of Dean Winchester, huh? See this is what you get, this right here, dead on the ground and about to be deader. As he got closer he made out another form, lying there in the wings. He squinted at it hard. Wait, wait ... that was ... that was Cas. It had tried to eat Cas, too? What the hell? No loyalty among winged fuckers? Well it wasn't going to eat Cas, either, but it sort of looked like it was holding onto Cas' back. Fuck. He still couldn't concentrate well, was still kind of woozy in his vision. Must have grabbed him by the head or something. Don't worry Cas, I'm on it. He dropped the stick, he came over to grab a wing; only the damn thing must have weighed more than the Impala. He heaved, grunting, and finally had to drop the end he'd only managed to lever up. Cas was really being unhelpful, just lying there. He rubbed his face, stood there for a long moment before slowly realizing that the wings were _attached_ to Cas' back. Then the floodgate opened and his memories tumbled over themselves to get out.

He jerked his head up, scanning the trees. Fuck. He better get himself and Cas under some kind of cover before they caught up. How the hell did Cas manage to avoid them in all these fucking trees with these monster hawk wings poking out of his back? He patted Cas' face.

“Cas,” he hissed, leaning close, “rise and shine, we gotta get the hell out of here.”

There was no response.

“Come on, Cas, not _now_ , come on come on,” Dean insisted. “Your buddies are going to come back and poke us with angel blades, I'm not on board with that, Cas, I'm not.” More face patting, but no results. Ok, then he'll just have to move them to cover. Should be relatively easy, considering they were in the middle of a mini-forest. But the wings were, like ,splayed all over the place and they were gonna snag the hell out of anything if he tried to drag Cas. So, he got the bright idea to fold the wings up himself. So he walked down to the end of one, examined it carefully, where it bent, how it must fold, and he started to lift it. But he couldn't. No wait, that's not right, he strained and lifted it perhaps a centimeter. Wait, this was a fucking wing made of poofy fluff and fairy dust and other shit, but mostly of hollow bones and feathers; and sure, the fuckers were big, but they shouldn't weigh ten tons. What the hell? The longer he struggled to move them, the more he craned his head up to check the skies and the trees, the more sort of frantic he became. Okay, fuck it, Cas had to wake up and move his heavy-assed wings himself. So he moved back to Cas' head, kneeled again.

“ _Cas_ ,” he hissed urgently. “Okay, listen, you got wings sticking out of your back that would make a pterodactyl proud and they are heavy as all get out, and I can't move you. _Cas_ , come on, we really got to get under cover.”

Cas was helpfully unhelpful and not inclined to wake up, it seemed. Then Dean heard a noise, rustling in the trees, and he jumped up and ran, then turned around and ran back; what the hell, Winchester? You can't just leave Cas here. De hunkered down again near Cas' head. Okay, okay, breathe, think. They can't see you because of the rib carvings; well, they can't sense you or some shit, _whatever_. So, so, what can you do? The rustling became louder, and out of desperation Dean crawled over Cas' prone form as much as he could, thinking with irrational logic that they wouldn't be able to see through him to sense Cas.

His theory, ironically, was somewhat sound. But the squirrel that leaped from the tree above him to the next tree over didn't seem impressed. Dean let go a breath, backed off of Cas and sat there on his knees wondering just what the hell he was going to do about anything. If he left Cas here ... well he couldn't, he'd established that. He wondered what Sam was doing: freaking out probably. But Sam was smart, he was cool, he could go see that hunter guy they came down to help out and maybe he'd be able to tell Sam how to get here. He looked down at Cas again, looked around, then leaned very close to Cas' ear.

“ _Cas_ ,” he halfshouted, then shut up and listened. Nothing. And more nothing, then a groan. Dean went back to his hands and knees, hanging over Cas' head. 

Castiel opened his eyes very slowly; he blinked and squinted and lay there without moving as Dean had when he first woke up. But then he slowly turned his eyes to Dean and Dean lifted his eyebrows, and they had a little stareoff for a moment.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas croaked, “I'm glad you are still alive.”

“Wanna tell me why you got wings now, choir boy,” Dean returned, “or you just gonna leave me hanging?”

“I have some theories,” Cas said, still lying there on his side, unmoving. “Some of them disturbing.”

“Seems about right,” Dean said, plunking back down on his butt, looking at the skies. “So, you wanna share them here or do you think we should get out of sight before the blue angels fly overhead again?”

“Are they blue?” Cas said sounding a bit dazed, “I didn't notice.”

“Okay, not to be blunt but to be blunt,” Dean sighed, “your wings weigh more than my car and I can't move you, so if you can't move on your own then we need to figure something out, like, can't you make them go away again?”

Cas gave him one of those big-eyed “I’m sorry and I’m baffled Dean” looks, but he seemed to understand the situation. He rolled onto his stomach and groaned, but his wings heaved upward and Dean jumped to get out of the way. They folded once, and then down again onto his back. Dean watched Cas lay there with his forehead pressed to the dirt for a few more moments, then he pushed himself upright, getting to his feet. He opened one of his hands to reveal a fistful of soil.

“This is not earth,” Cas said and Dean looked around a moment, then back at Cas’ hand. Cas let the soil slide between his fingers and then dusted his hands off. He turned to look around as well and Dean caught himself watching the small shift of the wings sitting on Cas’ back now. Then it occurred to Dean that Cas wasn’t going to elaborate without prompting; Dean was pretty sure they’d had this discussion before.

“Okay, so it’s not earth,” Dean said and spread his arms. “Great, but let’s get our asses under cover, okay?”

Cas still wasn’t looking at him, he was gazing off vaguely into the distance. “You wanted to know why my wings weigh so much,” Cas said slowly, and Dean sighed and stood there. The angel always had awesome timing.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, “enlighten me.”

Cas turned to him then, fixed that almost blank stare he had sometimes on Dean and said, “This is heaven.”

“Wait, what? We're in heaven and not in a swamp?” Dean said. “How’d that happen?”

“No,” Cas said patiently, “I mean this island, it’s part of heaven. But it’s anchored here, on earth. Because of this, some aspects of my true form are manifesting. You see of my wings what it is safe for you to see, but in reality they are much, much larger. That is why they weigh so much.”

Dean squinted and looked around again, turned a circle then turned back to Cas.

Cas gave him a one-sided smile and tilted his head. “Do you remember how everyone has their own private heaven? It seems this piece has been stolen away and put here. The real question is, whose heaven is it? It seems a great disservice to them, to have their heaven stolen from them. Unless, of course, they are still with their heaven.” Cas shook his head slowly.

“So you mean the angels took some poor slob's heaven away from them? How is that even possible? Is there anything you dick bags do right?” It was actually infuriating, to know your earthly values never really tallied up. It didn’t seem being a good guy paid off in the end after all if your reward could be taken right out from under you. “You know what, you better never let this get out, it’s a PR nightmare,” Dean said, pointing at Cas. “This is fucked up, and if people find out this is going on, then what?”

“No accountability,” Cas said. “Almost hell on earth. I think that is the reason the absence of God is so well-hidden. If you have nothing to answer to, then where are the check and balances? What is your moral code? This island is hidden very well and has been hidden for a long, long time for those reasons. This could be dissent in the ranks, it could be anarchy. We must send this heaven back to where it belongs,” Cas finished ,with a tilt of his head in Dean’s direction.

“You know, when you do that stare and head tilt at me, it’s like you’re expecting me to jump right on the case. I’m onto that, thanks,” Dean shook his own head. “How in the hell am I supposed to send an island back to heaven? It’s not escaping me that you’re an angel and really this should be your job.”

“But you’ll help,” Cas said and his tone was not a question and Dean slumped and scowled.

“Yes, fuck, okay, _now_ can we find some cover?” Dean gestured into the trees around them, then turned to walk toward them. Cas fell in, one step behind.

**

“How much further do you think it will be?” Sam asked, ducking under another branch.

“Ain’t been here in a while,” Delus told him, not having to duck under any branches, “we should be getting close. They got an encampment around here somewhere. Kinda grown up since last I been here.”

Another few moments of companionable silent walking and Delus stopped, and then of course Sam stopped.

“Gonna have company,” Delus told him, and Sam unslung his pack and unzipped it. He scanned the trees around them, being very still and listening. He could hear the steps then, pattering around them, coming closer. What did he have to work against angels? As he was pondering the options in his pack, one of them stepped into view. 

He was young, dark-skinned and had long black hair, and he regarded Sam and Delus frankly. His eyes settled on Delus and recognition took hold.

“I never thought to see you here again,” he said. “Why have you come here? I thought we had a deal.”

“I don’t make deals,” Delus said, “that’s just what you lot always wanna hear. I think this one is more up your alley,” Delus turned to Sam, “this one’s a demon.”

“Oh, uh,” Sam looked back and forth between them, “we’re here looking for my brother and an angel named Castiel.”

“That’s too bad, we’re looking for them, too. Didn’t your friend here tell you about strangers on the island? It’s a one-way deal: you get in, but you don’t get out. Unless, of course, you got friends in high places,” and the demon wrinkled his nose in Delus’ direction. Delus just shrugged.

“Banging an angel got perks,” the old man said. 

“Well,” Sam said, “that’s not going to happen. If you’re looking for them, too, that means you had them and they got away. Okay, something to go on.”

“What makes you think you’ll be going any further than this spot right here?” the demon said.

“This was always one mouthy bastard,” Delus sighed.

Sam just stepped around Delus and swung his arm up, burying the demon-killing knife right under the ribs of the demon he wanted to kill. The demon helpfully died and slumped to the ground at their feet.

“Dumbass here told us all we gotta know, ain’t gotta mess with the angels, just gotta find yer kin and get on outta here,” Delus said, looking down at the body and then up at Sam. “That might make it some easier.”

Sam nodded, bent to wipe the blade off on the back of the demon’s shirt, and tucked it back into the inner pocket on his jacket. 

“Who am I kiddin’,” Delus grinned as they stepped over the body and continued into the woods, “it’s gonna be like tryin’ to find a lost kid in a Wal-Mart.”

Sam had the sinking feeling that he was right.


End file.
